


fate

by Lua



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 14k Steter Reverse Bang, Dream World, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Unbeta'd, magical dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 11:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15460125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lua/pseuds/Lua
Summary: Stiles wasn't crazy enough to really think his dreams were anything more than just dreams.





	fate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpiritOfFox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritOfFox/gifts).



> this is a late pitch hit gift to the lovely SpiritOfFox who created [this awesome piece of art](http://nutterfox.tumblr.com/post/174946679600/2nd-art-submission-for-the-14k-steter-reverse-bang). i really hope i managed to write something you'll enjoy reading

The dreams started soon after Stiles’ 25th birthday and, as far as he could tell, they were absolutely pointless. At first, all he knew for sure was that he was in a forest. He would run past the trees, sometimes he would get the feeling he was running from someone – which, truth be told, was a little less pleasant.  Mostly, it didn’t bother him; it was likely a sign of stress with how work was going and, yeah, maybe a bit of sexual frustration that his brain decided to interpret in a weird way. Well, exercise was a way to get rid of all that extra energy but, after all, he really didn’t mind it all that much. Slowly, it became a reoccurring dream; that forest, those trees.  It was an oddity, sure, but it felt harmless enough that he rarely thought about the dreams. There was something off about them but he couldn’t quite put the pieces together.

 It was ridiculously relieving when the answer came to him on its own and, without any warning, one night he realized he was seeing the forest through the eyes of a stag. Stiles woke up feeling that he had been looking for that bit of information all along. It was…weird. He didn’t quite know what it could mean so he turned to the internet and read as much about recurring dreams, dream interpretation and what it meant to dream about being a stag as he could find. The explanations were either simplistic or they sent him into a full-on week of deep researching but it was very rare to find anything about the specifics of his dreams. Dreaming of a forest? Sure. Dreaming about a stag? They got you. Dreaming about being a stag in the same forest? That was a little too specific for most people writing about dreams online. For lack of better information, he tried to understand what exactly dreaming about a stag meant and, truth be told, if it was a sign of sexuality or virility, he was pretty sure this was his subconscious trying to tell him to get laid.

Eventually, as the dreams persisted, Stiles ranted about it to Scott because it was becoming kinda frustrating to try to find out what dreaming about being the stag meant and he hadn’t got lucky in a long time without any change foreseen in the nearest future. He was considering going to see someone who made a career of interpreting dreams but he admitted he also started considering the meaning of recurring dreams that started in a specific date and, boy, he might have been cursed. Magic was as good an explanation as any which was probably the statement that led to Scott forcing a doctor’s card into his hand two days later, with a very concerned expression, and assuring him that if he was having problem sleeping, this guy would surely – _surely_ – be able to help because dude they were pretty worried and they all agreed it was time for Stiles to talk a professional.

Particularly, Stiles didn’t think he needed to talk to a professional, so he didn’t. It also peeved him that this had become a group issue, but, since no group chat had been made out of it, he was willing to overlook his friends being a little too gossipy for comfort.

The dreams started always in the same way. Stiles was in a part of the forest he could already recognize, he would explore it and sometimes he would run from noises even though, once – which was something he never told anyone – he fell ungracefully while running. It was one of the first nights after he realized he was a stag and he didn’t think anyone would fault him for that because the realization made him very self-conscious about all his limbs that were – in the dream – very different from his usual ones. It was a difficult period of adjustment. Stiles wasn’t actually worried. It was better than nightmares he used to have and he really didn’t miss waking up to a panic attack. This dream was calming and somewhat predictable and he didn’t mind being in the body of a stag while he was dreaming. It wasn’t so bad being a stag which felt like a really weird thing to get used to, but it wasn’t like he was going to bring it up at parties. He felt he would only say anything along the lines of “Hey, I know the feeling of being a stag.” If he chose to go down a very specific kinky road so he just let it go.

As time passed, he realized the other animals avoided him in the dream. His best theory was that he had been going through a lot of stress lately at work – they just started training new people – so the dream itself was probably adapting.

Scott cornered him after work about three months after his birthday.

“Have you talked to someone yet?”

“I’ve looked into it, Scott. “

“You’ve been looking into seeing a dream interpreter. That’s not the same thing.”

“If it was serious, I’d do something.”

“It’s not normal to have the same dream every day,” Scott said and pressed his lips in a thin line that Stiles was familiar enough to know that it meant that the discussion would go nowhere because Scott had made up his mind. “Malia thinks so, too.”

“It’s nothing to worry about, bro. I’m pretty sure it’s magic anyway,” Stiles said and raised his hands when Scott gave him a worried look. “Just kidding. I’m gonna go get more coffee. Want some?”

Scott gave him a disappointed look but asked him to grab a refill on his expresso.

It wasn’t anything to worry about, or so Stiles thought until the dream changed again. Without any warnings or any indication at all that anything would happen, he found another character in his dream. It was a man – he looked slightly older than Stiles himself – and he was wearing an armor. In his chest plate, there was a big spiral that Stiles could see despite the blood on it. The man had claws still dirtied by blood and his eyes glowed unnaturally blue. Stiles saw him through the trees and he was still not over his surprise before the man caught Stiles – or the stag – staring at him.

The man snarled lowly, barely showing any teeth, but it was enough to be unsettling. Stiles was sure that a regular stag would have run much sooner, but he was curious and this was his dream after all. He wanted to ask questions which, given his stag situation, was not an actual possibility. As it turned out, it also wasn’t the script of that particular change in the dream because, as soon as the man stepped closer, Stiles was overwhelmed by the need to run and he really did not want to find out how it felt to die as a stag.  The man seemed ready to claw him open and, despite not having the actual instincts of a stag, Stiles did run. The man ran after him and he was fast. Stiles was vaguely aware he shouldn’t be that fast. He had never felt so lucky he knew these woods as well as he did by now. His heart was pounding, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to escape.

And then he woke up.

He lied in bed, wide-eyed and breathless. His heart still felt like it was trying to come out of his chest and he felt like he was still prey. It took a few minutes until he calmed himself down, the dream still vivid in his mind. It was the first time the dream had disturbed him, and he now he was pretty sure this had nothing to do with his sexual frustrations. The cold sweat and the lack of an erection were difficult to explain away in a sexual manner.

Stiles got up to get a glass of water and try to feel fully human again. The psychologist’s card that Scott had given him was stuck on the fridge with a smiley face magnet. Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose and got his water. It had been a one-time thing. Maybe it was a nightmare trying to fight for its place in his mind despite the fact that the stag dream had scheduled all of Stiles’ sleeping nights. It could be explained; he had nothing to worry about.

It was probably an anomaly. It better be an anomaly, he thought while staring at his glass of water.

Stiles went back to bed and, as it turned out, the dream wasn’t done with him yet. It wasn’t obvious as soon as he fell back into the dream, but there was something different about the woods. Stiles felt watched; there was uneasiness difficult to shake off. He looked around, tried to listen, but nothing seemed different than the usual and, still, he felt like this was a continuation of his previous dream.

Stiles wandered around the forest for a bit, waiting for the uneasiness to go away or for something to just happen already. Then he found the man again and, this time, Stiles surprised him. There was something about him that was not quite right; he was more animalistic than your regular human. Stiles watched him from a distance, perched over a boulder. He had the feeling he knew him, but, at the same time, he couldn’t be more of a stranger. In the end, it was a restless night for him. He still felt like prey.

In the morning, he found his blanket on the floor and his sheets messed up from all the turning. It didn’t surprise him after most of the night he dreamt of running through the woods, being chased by a bloodstained man who was clearly more than just a man. This nightmare would have to go.

He talked to Scott about it over lunch.

“So, it was a monster?” his friend asked.

“Sort of? Sorta like a monster, gave all the monster vibes, but still very…human.”

“Sounds like you just had a nightmare,” Scott shrugged it off. “But hey, it means this whole recurring dream thing may stop,” he added with a genuinely well-meaning smile.

Stiles considered it. It had been a dream with a very different feeling, but, for some reason, it still felt like part of the same old dream. It almost felt like he was dreaming of a specific story in chapters.

“Yeah, maybe I just saw a guy at the subway and my brain did,” Stiles said and gestured to his head, trying to convey what he meant through gestures. “This.”

Either way, he bought chamomile tea on his way home. He had read, a long time ago, that it could help you calm yourself so he figured he might just give it a try and see if his subconscious wouldn’t surprise him like that again.

It clearly didn’t work because, as soon as he felt himself in the dream, he noticed he was already running, not paying as much attention to his surroundings as he usually would. Stiles was sure he was being pursued  – okay, maybe not sure, but the last time left a lasting impression – and he wanted to be sure he got away. He stopped by the lake that he had forgotten was here or so he thought at the moment (but, in the morning, when he was recalling the weirdness of this dream, he was pretty sure his forest didn’t have a lake before). There was a small island in the middle of it and, when faced with the lake, he wondered if he could make it there. Did stags even swim? Maybe the lake wasn't so deep and his scent would get lost in the water.

He took a couple steps into the lake and suddenly he was pulled down, engulfed by water that went much deeper than he would have guessed by just looking at the lake. Stiles trashed around, trying to get back to the surface and, what started as a very difficult task for stag, slowly began to become easier. His limbs became more human and so did his body. He found himself flailing with arms just like his actual ones and that made him panic because of humans, for sure, didn't breath underwater. It took him some time to calm down and realize he could breathe just fine. Sometimes, in the dream, it was hard to remember the laws of physics and biology didn’t always apply there.

Stiles could see his floating around him. He ran a hand through it and was surprised to realize he still had antlers. Stiles tried to look at the rest of his body to see what else he retained from his stag form, but he looked normal. He was even dressed.

Stiles explored the bottom of the lake for some time. This was very new, although it had a feeling of continuity from his past dreams. The lake felt....homely. When Stiles woke up, he did wonder if all his dreams were trying to guide him to the lake, like a game he kept failing and restarting. He wasn’t sure that was a thing that actually happened to people so he turned back to the internet which wasn’t exactly as helpful as he would’ve liked. Later, that day, during a particularly boring shift at work, he started to consider the possibility of the dream being another reality in which he was a sort of magical stag who could turn into a somewhat human…something, and that, led to him actually considering seeing that psychologist Scott suggested because it sounded, even in his head, a little bit too crazy.

The whole thing left him so unsettled that he almost forgot he was meeting his friends after work. He was caught by surprise when Scott texted him asking if he was there already and if the girls were mad about them being late. Stiles had no idea who was them in this case but he was thankful for the text because he was about to go straight home and probably pass out and have more weird-ass dreams.

Stiles checked his appointments and made a turn to the coffee shop near campus where he met Lydia and Kira. Kira greeted him with a huge grin and by exclaiming "freedom!". Lydia seemed unfazed and, to be honest, well prepared for the outburst. Malia and Scott arrived shortly after him and she repeated her greeting.

"You look tired," Lydia commented quietly when the others left them alone to go get their coffee.

"Didn't have time to wake up yet," he shrugged it off and made grabby hands at the tray Scott came back carrying. "Coffee sweet coffee."

"I thought it had no effect on you," Scott commented.

"It doesn't," Lydia agreed.

"Will you two let me having my delusions in peace," he said and glared over the mug.

"Work trouble?" Kira asked.

"He's still having weird dreams," Scott answered and Stiles glared at him until his friend looked apologetic.

"Too much information," Lydia said and looked away from them but they could still see her rolling her eyes.

"Not that kind of weird dream," Stiles protested. “And it just turned weird like yesterday.”

They all seem to think that was an interesting topic and waited for him to say more about it. They had probably been waiting to ask since Scott first mentioned it to them, but Stiles appreciated the fake suddenness of their curiosity. He ended up explaining to them about the dreams, how he was a stag and that the stag transformed into some sort of aquatic human-stag hybrid. He told them about the hunter.

“It’s not like it’s always _exactly_ the same.”

“Well,” Lydia said and paused to take a sip of her coffee. “Anxiety is a common source of recurring dreams.”

“And maybe you should talk to someone about it,” Stiles completed in a mocking tone while rolling his eyes.

Truth be told, even with the more nightmarish elements, the dreams weren’t bad. Sure, the first time he was being chased as a stag, that was a bit nerve-wracking, but he was strangely aware that he wasn’t in actual imminent danger. He felt the dream as, well, a realm that was not the same one where he was out for coffee with his friends which were still a weird thought that he chose to not mention but, yeah, he was very aware he would not turn into a stag here. He had never even been to a forest before and he would probably not be chased by any human-looking monsters.

The man in the armor was an odd comfort in all this confusion. The more Stiles thought about his hunter, more convinced he got that he was just projecting a lot into this dream which made it clearly not detached from this reality. He was attracting and, with a little less snarling and blood, Stiles could totally see himself being into the guy. He probably met him somewhere.

The dreams took some time to return and, by the time he went to sleep and found himself back at the bottom of the lake he was curious. He didn't know how long he stayed at the bottom of the lake, but when he came up, there was a handkerchief on the ground with somewhat looked to be bread on it. The man who kept pursuing him was sitting not too far away, watching. He still wore his armor but it was clean this time.

Stiles really wasn't sure what to think of the food. Was it an offering  –  a peace offering? Maybe even an apology? – or was it bait. He watched the other man, full of suspicion.

The man got up and Stiles sank a bit more into the water, keeping just his eyes and above of it visible. He was wary. After a few moments, the man left without a word.

Stiles woke up annoyed. He wanted to know what would happen the next. He wanted to know who the hunter was. He wanted to know why he was trying to lure him out with food. The lack of answers frustrated him and, after trying to fall back asleep and go back into the dream without success, he only felt more frustrated. It felt like he unlocked a new level in a game and his dad sent him to bed right when he was about to explore it. Stiles rolled to his side. Maybe he should write a book and come up with an ending to the story on his own.

He had a message from Lydia asking if his dreams were lucid.  

 “Yeah. I did some reading into it,” he texted back.

She sent him a couple references anyway and Stiles spent some time, still in bed, reading them as a distraction.

“I don’t like living the story in parts,” he texted her later. “If I could just get it over with it would be so good.”

“Try to take control over it,” she suggested. It was a really reasonable suggestion and Stiles felt like kicking himself for not thinking of it sooner.

That night, his dream started at the lake again. He came up to the surface and there were flowers, fruits and a couple things – a comb with a plastic shell on it and a bracelet that looked like it came in the same package that the blue comb did – that just looked like they belonged to a child’s inventory. He looked around, inspected the offerings and decided it was safe by poking at all the things with a stick. Slowly, the man in the armor started approaching the rock where he had been leaning last time. There was nothing particularly threatening about the man this time – no blood, no claws, no snarling – and except for the fact he chased Stiles back when he was a fucking stag, there was no reason for Stiles to distrust him. Except, you know, the fact he chased Stiles when he was a fucking stag and people just don’t chase random stags because they want to catch up on a conversation or return a pen he dropped or something innocuous like that.   People just didn’t chase stags to be friendly. Although Stiles was well aware of the fact this man probably didn’t think Stiles, the antler aquatic man was the stag he was chasing the other day? A week ago? How did time pass in these dreams?

Stiles looked at the items – all of them carefully place on a handkerchief with an “H” embroidered on the corner – and then at the man.

“Is this an offering?” he asked, and his voice sounded weird, not quite like his actual voice, but Stiles, somehow, knew it was his own. The man seemed perplexed by the fact Stiles could talk or, maybe he didn’t recognize the language. He was clearly confused and surprised. “Do you speak English?” Stiles tried again.

The man snorted and rolled his eyes in such a way that he moved his whole head.

“You’re quite friendly for an old spirit.”

Stiles considered it for a moment. Maybe this man did know he was the stag and maybe, to him, there was something more going on with this. The first thing he would do when he woke up would be look up magical stags, even if he was pretty sure that, by now, his subconscious was improvising.

“It gets boring,” he caught himself telling the man. “It would be different if I lived in a fountain in a big city, you know. Lots of people would come by and I could freak them out by saying hi. But, you know, here I am, in my lake, that’s totally mine.”

The man snorted and gave Stiles a calculated look.

“You’ll be peaceful then?” he asked Stiles, watching him like he should be ready to fight or flight at any second now.

“When am I not peaceful?” Stiles laughed and gestured to the offerings. “But come on, man. You brought me a plastic comb. Who would be mad after that?” Stiles thought the whole situation was funny, but his visitor was clearly on edge. “What is your name?” The man narrowed his eyes at him, clearly suspicious. Stiles thought he would be suspicious, too, given everything he ever read about fairies and magical creatures.  “Never mind.”

“Why don’t you tell me your name?” the man suggested with a hint of mockery.

“My parents taught me to not trust strangers, Mr. H.”

Stiles looked back at the offerings and the handkerchief with its embroidered “H”. Maybe this belonged to Hector? Hugo? Harry? That, he liked that; this guy was now Harry.

“Isn’t it a bit late? We seem to be having a conversation.”

“No, no. It isn’t late at all. I didn’t even touch the food you brought me. See? How to not be kidnapped 101.”

Harry looked amused.  Stiles frowned; the name just didn’t suit the man. It became the beginning of most of their conversations after that night.

“Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” not-Harry would tease when Stiles insisted about the name.

Stiles dreamt of the stranger quite often now. Sometimes, they just sat quietly, enjoying each other's company. Sometimes they shared stories of their dream lives. Stiles told him all about being a stag and not-Harry told him about how his clan was at war.

"Not on the outside, I hope," Stiles said.

"The outside?"

And with a harmless comment, the stranger would remind Stiles that this was all a dream. He didn't know if this man was real, but he was fairly sure that, even if he was, he was not exactly the person Stiles was dreaming about. As much as he knew, his subconscious created this person to keep him company in his enchanted forest just because Stiles’ subconscious was a dick. He had found out the stranger was a werewolf and that totally spoke against not-Harry being real. Maybe, if Stiles mentioned it was a dream, he would just shatter the reality of this terrifying but pleasant character. They agreed in a lot of things, which was probably another sign he was a figment of Stiles’ imagination. Wouldn't it be just cruel to make this man question the basis of his reality?

“If you told me your name, my mysterious H, we could meet up for coffee. And I swear to got that if you bring me coffee beans I will try to drown you.”

He probably wouldn’t, but the threat amused his werewolf friend.

“I know better than to trust magical stags. One bit my sister, once.”

“I’m sure it was very sad.”

“She almost didn’t survive,” the stranger sighed dramatically.

Sometimes, Stiles felt that it would be only fair to come clean. Not exactly a dirty conscious – Stiles knew how to deal with that – but a sort of urge to connect with this man. It was a weird thought, he knew, but what if this dream was how the universe chose to introduce two people that who should meet? What if it happened to everyone? Well, it probably didn't or else it would be a thing that everyone would know, but a magical fate dream sounded a lot better than his subconscious thinking he needed an imaginary dream friend.

Stiles didn’t update anyone about the turn his dreams took and, to be honest, he felt he was really in control of them now. Sure, he couldn’t get everything he wanted from it and there was a lot of information just missing, but the dreams felt harmless and somewhat pointless again.

Mostly, the stranger sat on his rock and Stiles stayed on the edge of the lake. They talked. It was almost boring in its simplicity. It took what felt like a really long time in his dream world for the man to approach the lake. Only once had he sat down with Stiles on the edge of the lake, legs in the water and pants rolled up, with no armor.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll kill you and make you into an offering to win the war?” the man asked softly.

“No. I know you better than that,” Stiles answered, confident in his control of the dream world. He wouldn’t just let himself be killed now that he was used to this.

“You don’t even know my name.”

“Then tell me.”

They stared at each other, challenging the other to look away. The man reached out and touched Stiles’ cheek. It was very gentle. Stiles leaned first into the kiss and when he woke up, he spent a really long time in the shower, thinking about his imaginary dream friend. That really sucked. After the shower, he texted Lydia and asked her to set him up with someone because this was getting out of hand. He was living a romantic fantasy in which he was some sort of old spirit that could turn into a stag, in a land where werewolves were at war and, really, he should just write this story and published it already.

That night, the stranger was sitting on the edge of the lake this time, waiting for him. He had his legs on the water and Stiles knew it was him even before coming to the surface. The man smiled at him and Stiles couldn’t help but smile back. He hoped he survived his werewolf war.

"Do you ever leave the lake?" the man asked.

"It's been...some time," Stiles told him, unsure of how long ago he was a stag in this world.

Stiles pushed himself up and kissed the other man. The man kissed him back, possessive and full of fangs this time. Stiles grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down into the water. He broke the kiss and grinned at the man.

"I wish you were real in my world," Stiles blurted out.

"Your world?" the man asked.

"The real world. Outside the dream."

And just like that, it was as if the world collapsed. The sky cracked and the forest started vanishing. Stiles felt dizzy as the world started spinning around him and he looked at the other man, expecting him to start vanishing like everything else.

"Who are you?" the man asked, having to shout the question as the world descended into chaos.

Stiles somehow knew that the world was ending. There would be no next time.

"Stiles!" he caught himself yelling back, barely able to see the other man as branches and leaves flew by. It was pointless, but he tried again: "My name is Stiles!".

He woke up with an unsettling feeling of loss and, although he tried to go back, he didn't dream of that world again.

Sometimes, Stiles missed his dream world but life moved on and so did he. That was why it caught him completely by surprise when he turned a corner at the grocery store and almost full body slammed into someone just to see the fact of his imaginary werewolf. He looked at the person and for a moment he questioned if he was truly awake. The man seemed as surprised as Stiles himself was but he recovered first.

"Holy fuck," was all Stiles could say at first. "Holy fuck!”  The man laughed. Stiles could get used to that. “What…who are you? Holy fuck, you’re real.”

The man smirked, visibly amused by Stiles’ reaction.

"You must be Stiles," he said with a knowing smile that was at the same time enticing and annoying. "It's Peter. Peter Hale."

A family name, of course. He hadn’t thought of that back when he tried to name him Harry. This was ridiculous; he could literally say a part of his dream came true.

“Have we met?”

"I don't recall meeting you but if you are free..."

"Oh. Shit. I have work after this! Fuck," Stiles messed his hair in frustration.  "Later?"

"Later," Peter agreed.

"This is so weird," Stiles laughed and stared at him a moment longer.

"It must be fate," Peter smirked and Stiles snorted.

Yeah, it had to be.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading this!
> 
> it should've been posted a lot earlier but some medical and technical issues got in the way. i tried to also use the wondrous stag story that inspired the beautiful art so i hope that came through.


End file.
